“My God!” he cried out, a ring of terror in his voice “What do you mean to do?  You’ll pay for it!  They’ll get you!  The servants will be back in a minute.”

“Two skirts!” jeered Clarie Deane.  “We ain’t goin’ ter run away from them.  If they comes before we goes, we’ll fix ’em.  That minute’s up!”

Stangeist licked his lips with his tongue.

“Suppose—­suppose I refuse?” he said hoarsely.

“You can suit yerself,” said Clarie Deane, with a vicious grin.  “We know the paper’s there, an’ we gets it before we leaves here—­see?  You can take yer choice.  Either you goes over ter the safe an’ opens it yerself, or else”—­he paused and produced a small bottle from his pocket—­“this is nitro-glycerin’, an’ we opens it fer you with this.  Only if we does the job we does it proper.  We ties you up and sets you against the door of the safe before we touches off the ‘soup,’ an’ mabbe if yer a good guesser you can guess the rest.”

There was a short, raucous guffaw from The Mope.

Stangeist turned a drawn face toward the man, stared at him, and stared in a miserable way at the other two in turn.  He licked his lips again—­none was in a better position than himself to know that there would be neither scruples nor hesitancy to interfere with carrying out the threat.

“Suppose,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “suppose I open the safe—­what then—­afterward?”

“We ain’t got the safe open yet,” countered Clarie Deane uncompromisingly.  “An’ we ain’t got no more time ter fool over it, either.  You get a move on before I counts five, or The Mope an’ Ike ties you up!  One—­”

Stangeist staggered to his feet, wiped the blood out of his eyes for the second time, and, with lips working, went unsteadily across the room to the safe.

He knelt before it, and began to manipulate the dial; while the others crowded around behind him.  The Mope was fingering his revolver again club fashion.  Australian Ike’s elbow just grazed the portieres, and Jimmie Dale flattened himself against the window, holding his breath—­a smile on his lips that was mirthless, deadly, cold.  The end was not far off now; and then—­what?

Stangeist had the outer door of the safe open now—­and now the inner door swung back.  He reached in his hand to the pigeonhole, drew out the envelope—­and with a sudden, wild cry, reeled to his feet.

“My God!” he screamed out.  “What’s—­what’s this!”

Clarie Deane snatched the envelope from him.

“The gray seal!”—­the words came with a jerk from his lips.  He ripped the envelope open frantically—­and like a man stunned gazed at the four blank sheets, while the colour left his face.  “It’s gone!” he cried out hoarsely.

“Gone!” There was a burst of oaths from Australian Ike.  “Gone!  Den we’re nipped—­de lot of us!”

The Mope’s face was like a maniac’s as he whirled on Stangeist.